


darken a thousand doors

by SheWhoWalksUnseen



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Because Florida Deserves Its Own Horrible Tag, Bisexual Bill Denbrough, Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris Live, Florida, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mike Hanlon Deserves Nice Things, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Road Trips, The other Losers are in the background but they get honorable mentions okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:13:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23223058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheWhoWalksUnseen/pseuds/SheWhoWalksUnseen
Summary: Mike Hanlon hadn't been anywhere outside Derry, Maine in forty years. It was long overdue, and frankly, maybe it was time to let someone else do the waiting for him.Or, five phone calls made and one personal call at the end of taking your time.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 15
Kudos: 71





	darken a thousand doors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anniebibananie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniebibananie/gifts).



> My first non-DCTV fic in years and it's all because my friend roped me into watching not one, but two horror movies. I blame all my enablers for dragging me into the fandom after that. You know who you are.
> 
> Annie came up with this idea on twitter ages ago for a Hanbrough fic and it took me forever to finish it (5+1 fics will be the death of me, I swear), but I present it to you now, as a gift for your patience. And hopefully, it makes you smile. Please enjoy :)

1.

The moment the cheerful “You Are Now Leaving Derry!” sign came into focus, barely ten yards from Mike’s beat-up truck, his stomach clenched and he had to grip the steering wheel with both hands _hard_ keep the bile on his tongue from coming up. He was tempted to shut his eyes tight too, but that seemed both childish and foolish, considering not only the danger he’d be in while _driving_ and doing so, and because, of course, there was nothing to fear anymore. It was dead.

It was dead.

He had to keep reminding himself of that, even now. Half the Losers had left before him already, save for Richie, Bill, and Eddie, the latter of whom was still in the hospital griping over his treatments (which didn’t seem fair, but he _was_ the one who now had a hole in his chest, so Mike granted him permission to complain about this one thing). Ben and Bev made sure to call them from wherever they were now, voices bright and warm with the promise of “We remember everything, and we love all of you.” Even Stan sounded relieved, though tired too, from the hospital in Atlanta when he called to check in.

Yet Mike couldn’t stop white-knuckling the wheel as he sped past the sign out of Derry, and the urge to turn around, to look over his shoulder and check his surroundings, nagged at him, a persistent ache in the back of his mind. As if _he_ was the one who had any right to be upset and jumping at shadows after everything they’d been through over the last week.

“Off to a great start, Mikey,” he muttered to himself. He felt more ridiculous after saying it out loud, but it helped to hear his own voice, strangely enough. It was weird being alone again with his belongings tied down in the bed of the truck and his backpack of books and his laptop shifting in the passenger seat with every sharp turn.

Only by the time he was an hour away from Derry, an hour away from that cheesy sign and the clown and the last chapter of his old life, did Mike begin to relax. With the radio humming at a soft volume, just low enough for him to keep himself focused on the road ahead, and the weight of memories slipping off his shoulders little by little, like Atlas’ load being eased from his blistered hands, Mike even dared to laugh. It was nothing more than a quick bark, almost unrecognizable to his own ears, but the knot in his chest loosened a little more.

And suddenly, that sound was the last straw that released the dam within him. In that red truck by himself, with no one around for miles, he laughed for a good ten minutes, tears springing to his eyes, and felt more alive than he had since he was a child standing in a circle with six other lost Losers. He took one hand off the wheel to wipe the tears dripping down his cheeks, grinning from ear to ear all the while, and kept driving.

If he stopped now, who knew if he’d ever come this far again.

***

The motel in Raleigh was an eyesore from a distance and a migraine waiting to happen up close. Painted a garish orange with one neon sign above the building, Mike could see it from the road long before he pulled into the parking lot. Even at midnight, the streetlights well-illuminated the orange pigment and he thought of taking a picture to show the others so they could share in his revulsion.

It was perfect for the next seven to eight hours, no more. Mike certainly wasn’t planning on staying for more than a day.

The bleary-eyed receptionist working the desk - maybe the only one working the motel at all, it _was_ rather late - seemed to agree, squinting at Mike as she handed him his key. Her clear glasses slid down her nose with every passing second and Mike had to shove one hand into his jacket pocket to keep himself from pushing them back up. When he asked her how she was, out of polite courtesy, she sniffed and turned back to her phone, typing away to someone called Martin about needing a raise.

After that, he figured it was best for them both to get to bed so he hurried out to his truck, grabbed a change of clothes, toiletries, and a phone charger, and headed up the stairs to his room. The soft plod of his feet in the dimly lit lot as he eyed the flickering lights above each door in the motel was both soothing and unnerving. In Derry, there were rarely any places without streetlights, or at least one car lazily driving down the block. Save for maybe the Barrens, of course, but no one was dumb enough to venture to the Barrens at night. Not even Mike would dare explore there, not when he’d shaken like a leaf remembering It and skeletal hands and the charred flesh of a baby bird and a voice that crooned low enough for him to feel a terrible ache in his bones.

This motel, shitty as it was, was nothing like the Barrens, though, nor the sewers for that matter. It took Mike three tries to open the door, granted, but he was inside and found the light switch, the soft glow of the room with its peeling paint and mismatched sheets (they seemed to have a thing for colorblindness to decent color combinations in North Carolina apparently) were a welcome sight. Especially considering Mike had nearly nodded off during the last ten miles in his truck before he managed to get off the highway. He hated that his only reference point for comparison was Derry, but he already found himself starting to smile at the haphazard, yet inviting, warmth of the room and his shoulders began to lose the remaining tension he’d clung to since leaving home.

He dropped his clothes in the chair by the door, then the toiletries in the bathroom attached to the bedroom - which he tried not to look too closely in, maybe he’d shower in a cleaner motel tomorrow instead - and flopped onto his back on the bed. The sheets were relatively thin but it was nearly summer, so he was grateful. Mike had never been one for the cold anyway.

 _Florida will be much warmer_ , Mike reminded himself, and he let that smile blossom and unfurl in the quiet of his motel room. _Even if it does have “alligators and tourists and beaches, oh my!” as Richie declared._

He wasn’t sure if Richie had been attempting a joke or trying to persuade him to stay longer, just a couple days more while Richie waited for Eddie in the hospital. He had Bill, of course, they always had Big Bill to watch their backs, but there was a slight plea in Richie’s eyes when he aimed the comment at Mike, like _I know you’re escaping at long last and you deserve the world but please, do not leave me alone with my injured friend or we’ll strangle each other in our sleep._

Maybe that was an exaggeration on Mike’s part. Just a little.

Besides, he doubted Richie would be the one doing the strangling when he’d sobbed for nearly three hours after they rushed Eddie to the hospital. Eddie, on the other hand…

It took him a moment to realize his chest was vibrating. Mike rubbed at his eyes with one hand, grimacing at the drowsiness itching at the corners as he dug in his jacket pocket for his phone. He didn’t bother looking at the screen as he answered and hoped his sigh wasn’t audible on the other end of the call. “Hello, Mike Hanlon speaking?”

“Very formal of you, Mikey,” Bill Denbrough’s voice teased, and something lurched deep in Mike’s chest. If he’d thought he was warm before in his empty motel room in late spring, he definitely was heating up now. “Expecting anyone?”

“Just the good old Sandman.”

“Oh, right,” Bill faltered. “I, uh, I didn’t think you’d be up at this time. Should let you get to sleep.”

“It’s okay,” Mike assured him. “I’m half-asleep already, and I only stopped a few times to eat and rest before now. Did you know Dunkin Donuts makes sandwiches? I had no idea!”

Bill snorted and the noise was startling, but not unpleasant. “They don’t have any in Derry, do they?”

“I think we have maybe one Starbucks, but their coffee tastes worse than quarry water.”

“Amen to that.”

Mike hesitated, a thought wiggling its way to the forefront of his mind even as he fought to stifle it. “You’re still in Derry, right, Big Bill?”

“Of course. Just got back to the Townhouse, Rich is getting us food. Visited Eddie again today.”

“Right.” Mike noticed his hand was trembling and squeezed it tighter on the crown of his head. It didn’t ease his worrying any less. “And it’s not - I mean, you’d tell me if… If something was wrong. You know. If _It_ was - ”

“Mikey.” He didn’t flinch at the sudden sternness in Bill’s voice, gentled as it was by Bill’s own newfound concern, but he wanted to. “Nothing’s happened since you left. I promise. It’s gone. For g - good.”

He knew that. He knew that deep down, he knew it in his bones and his veins and his blood and every raw beat of his heart.

But _still_. _Still_.

Bill seemed to understand his silence as uncertainty and something crinkled near the receiver on his end. It sounded like paper. Mike wasn’t awake enough to tell the difference. “Hey, I promise, everything is fine. Or, as fine as anything can be in Derry. Don’t worry about us. Eddie’s gonna be released before the end of the month, hopefully, and Richie and I will be out before then.” Bill paused. “Well, maybe Richie’s staying a little longer.”

“I’d be surprised if he wasn’t,” Mike admitted. He thought about the open anguish written across Richie’s face when the five of them waited in the hospital, how hoarse his voice was when Stan finally talked to them over the phone from Georgia. The uncharacteristic quietness of his voice and the slump of his shoulders as he hunched in on himself upon entering Eddie’s room after surgery. The way Richie broke down the moment Eddie spoke for the first time since being impaled, a simple “You look like you got run over by a fucking tractor, Trashmouth.” He didn’t think it needed words, the look on Richie’s face down in the sewers, fighting tooth and nail to drag Eddie out of there even if no one else believed they’d make it in time.

But Mike wasn’t about to tell Bill that. Mike was a coward of his own - in so many painful ways he didn’t want to think about after midnight alone - and if Richie hadn’t said anything out loud, like hell was Mike going to ruin that for him.

“Yeah.” Contemplative described Bill’s murmur best, barely audible but thoughtful. He sighed over the other end. “But, terrible food and hospitals aside, how’ve you been today? You drove for a long time by the sound of it. Where’d you wind up?”

“Raleigh,” Mike answered. “Spent a lot of time thinking on the drive down, listening to the radio. Stopped for gas. Saw families on their own trips too and got to wondering where they were going, what they were doing. Hoped none of them were going to Maine.”

“Should’ve given them a brochure for Florida. That’s where you’re going first, yeah?”

Mike snorted. “Yeah, that’s the plan. Should arrive tomorrow, probably going to get in late again. Not as late as tonight, but late.”

“That’s good. You ought to get some sleep. You deserve some rest.”

 _Do I?_ He almost wanted to ask. _Do I really? I lied to you, you know. I nearly got you all killed. I nearly got Stan killed with a little phone call. Do I deserve that?_

Instead, Mike said, “Thanks, Bill.”

“Where are you now? Not in the car, I hope.”

“No, no. I made it to the motel. Can’t remember the name, but it seems deserted for the most part.” Mike grinned despite himself. “It’s not the prettiest place, but it’s nice.”

The laugh that comment wrung out of Bill made his chest ache. He hadn’t heard Bill laugh since that dinner his first night back in Derry. “Well, no motel is. I stayed in one once that had a whole army of cockroaches in the bathroom. I had to drive to a McDonald’s every time I wanted to use the toilet.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I truly wish I was.”

“I think this place is cleaner,” Mike told him. He cast a glance toward the bathroom, though he wasn’t sure why since the door was nearly shut and no light was on in there. “Didn’t see any cockroaches. Or mold.”

“You’re already having a five-star experience, then.”

“I’ll say.”

They both fell quiet over the phone again, this time for more than a couple of beats. It was nice to hear Bill, Mike reasoned with himself, just listening to his breathing through the phone. Bill had always managed to put him and the rest of the Losers at ease with a touch or a kind word.

Mike tried not to think of himself as a selfish man, but part of him wanted to pull Bill through the phone into the room with him, let his back hit the sheets with a soft _thump_ and hug him close.

“You know,” Bill said after a few minutes, and the sound of his voice made Mike jerk out of the half-sleep he’d begun to sink into. “You know, there are beaches in North Carolina too, from what I remember.”

“You been to North Carolina before?”

“Once or twice. I think one of my books was set there. I don’t remember which one, but I stayed in the area for a month or two, got a feel for the state.”

“Huh.” Mike let his hands drop onto the bed beside him. “I read your books and I don’t remember that either.”

“How many did you read?”

“All of them?” It came out like a question once Mike realized the mortifying truth on his tongue, but he couldn’t stop himself in time.

Bill didn’t say anything for a long moment. And then: “ _All_ of them?”

“I…” Maybe he could hang up, fake needing to sleep before he passed out then and there. Pretend someone was knocking at his door, some drunkard stumbling to the wrong motel room in the middle of the night who’d save Mike from the way his cheeks warmed in the dark. “I - Well. I’ll have you know that maybe I liked to check in on my friends. And I’d read a lot of the books in the library, and they don’t change their selections often. Or at all. I should know, I worked there for a long time, Bill.”

“Mike.”

“So, there’s really no explanation for - ”

“ _Mikey_.” Bill was laughing again. What was this, the second time tonight? His cheeks burned hotter. Mike was glad he wasn’t able to drag Bill into his room after all, that Bill Denbrough was still in Derry even if he was _laughing_ at how silly Mike was. “It’s fine. I’m - I’m happy to hear that. Although, I’d hate to think you only read my books because they had my name attached to them.”

“Of course not,” Mike assured him. “I wouldn’t read anything just because. You’ve always been a good storyteller.” And it was the truth, he didn’t have to exaggerate to try and lessen his embarrassment. He could stand to write a decent ending once in a while and maybe Mike skimmed through several books that included characters he swore represented Georgie Denbrough and a couple of Losers over and over, but that just proved he had the potential to be better than he was.

“Oh. Thanks, Mike.” Bill cleared his throat. “Uh, about the room, though.”

“The room?”

“The motel,” Bill clarified. “The one you’re staying in. You gonna leave tomorrow once you have breakfast?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Right. Just… Don’t rush out so soon.”

Mike blinked once, then twice. He couldn't fathom why Bill sounded _worried_ , but to be fair, running off on his own after what they'd been through was plenty of cause. “You really have good memories in North Carolina, huh?”

“No, that’s - ” Bill made a strange sound, a little strangled, maybe frustrated. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I’m just messing with you,” Mike said, shaking his head at the ceiling. “I get it.”

“You… You get it.”

“I’m not rushing into anything. Or this trip. Or Florida.” Mike breathed out, deep and slow, and bit back a yawn. “I want to leave quickly because… Well, if I don’t leave soon, I’ll want to stay at every stop. See every sight. I’m not young enough for that anymore. Or, maybe I’ve just wasted too much time.”

“That’s not your fault,” Bill said, and Mike could barely hear him, so soft in his ear, a whisper beside him on the motel’s twin bed.

“I know. I know. Took me a while to understand it wasn’t anyone’s fault who had to stay behind.” He smiled, letting it stay small and sad as he gazed upward, not quite seeing the cracked ceiling. “But if I stay anywhere too long, I’m worried I’ll never want to leave. There’s so much I haven’t seen. I want to see everything, Bill. All of it.”

“You have all the time you need now,” Bill murmured, and something about the unbearable sureness, the absolute _certainty_ of his words hit Mike like a lightning bolt to the heart. Mike pressed the tips of his fingers to his mouth as if that would halt the - well, he couldn’t tell what was trying to escape him now, be it a gasp or a sob.

Fuck it, he was a weak and selfish man when it really came down to the wire, and perhaps Bill Denbrough didn’t know that, but Mike Hanlon knew himself well. He knew what this kind of pain meant, even for as little a comment as _You have all the time you need now._

Someone opened a door somewhere on Bill’s end. Likely Richie coming back late with food. Still, Bill didn’t sound phased, didn’t seem to notice Mike’s own turmoil. “I mean it. Take your time. The world can wait for you, if you really want it to. Where else do you have on your list?”

Mike pulled his fingers a couple of inches from his mouth and licked his lips. “My list?”

“Yeah. Of places to go.”

“Oh.” The list was in his head, truthfully. He hadn’t thought it necessary to write it down when he had little idea where else he was going to go aside from _Florida, out West, Georgia (for Stan), L.A., Europe and beyond._ “There’s a lot of places in mind. I think I was going to roam a little. After Florida, I mean. Maybe visit Stan once he’s out.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Mike could hear Richie now, could hear the lilt of his voice, although muffled, on the other end. Bill muttered something under his breath that he couldn’t catch. “Shit, I - I should go. It’s almost one a.m., you’re probably dead on your feet. Didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“S’okay,” he told Bill. He could already feel a yawn tickling the back of his throat again. “Miss you all already.”

“We miss you too, Mike.” It sounded like Bill shouted something to Richie, but it was faint as if his hand was over the mic. “I gotta go. Richie’s brought enough food to feed the Kardashians, I guess, so if I die of grease and fast food, you know who to blame.”

“Tell him I’ll bring him back a souvenir from Florida if he doesn’t kill you.”

Bill chuckled. “That’ll just encourage him, but good to know you’re so concerned for my safety.”

“Someone’s got to look out for you,” Mike said. The words might’ve come out too soft because Bill went quiet again for a minute. Richie shouted something back, but it sounded like his usual rambling, maybe a joke. At least he sounded more upbeat than he’d been since the sewers.

“I’m glad it’s you, then,” Bill said, and Mike traced the smile he swore he heard in his voice for the rest of the night long after they said their hushed goodbyes and hung up.

In the morning, Mike went to a diner down the road and asked for directions to the nearest beach. The options the bright-eyed waitress gave revealed quite a few were at least a three-hour drive out of his way, leaving him with an even later time to make it to Florida, but he simply smiled and took the drive out to the closest one.

He sent the Losers twelve photos of the sand and the waves, all greeted with varying exclamations and one delighted picture of Beverly and a dog that could only be Ben’s licking her chin, with a caption that read _Good morning to you too!_ underneath.

Mike sent Bill one photo ten minutes before, though, of his red-rimmed eyes as he stared out at the water, the tiny twitch at the edges of his lips that struggled not to break into a large, buoyant grin. He texted him _I’m taking my time._

Bill responded with a selfie of his own, a half-awake grin and a crooked thumbs up pointed at the camera, his hair horribly disheveled. He looked like he hadn’t gotten out of bed yet.

Mike saved it before he could think twice.

2.

Whatever Mike expected of Orlando, it certainly wasn’t that Richie was correct about the hundreds of tourists he saw _everywhere_. There were whole billboards for every theme park imaginable - mostly Disney, but that was to be expected - and the number of ripoff stores for merchandise he saw at one busy intersection was truly jaw-dropping. He wondered if this was how one felt living in Times Square and coming upon a knockoff Elmo in a terribly-made costume.

That didn’t mean Florida wasn’t lovely, though. As much as Mike spammed his friends with all of the bizarre capitalist propaganda he spotted on the side of the road as he drove, he genuinely liked the state. It was in the early nineties, but even while sweating thanks to the thick humidity, he enjoyed the heat and the busy rumble of the cars past the motel he’d checked into. It seemed everyone was on the go here, whether for good reason or not, and while his surroundings resembled nothing like a city of skyscrapers and subways, he felt as if he were in one all the same. Instead of skyscrapers, he got billboards and neon suns with sunglasses winking at him. Same thing.

 _ur making eds laugh so hard he’s busting a nut, micycle!!_ Richie texted. _that mickey mouse in bathing suit in that one store is my fave ngl. esp the weird mouse ears on the top half. Hot amiright???_

 _Beep beep asshole,_ Eddie responded, probably typing from his hospital bed two feet away from Richie, and Mike chuckled as they devolved into debating the ethics of Disney merchandise and swimwear. He’d slept through most of his first day in Florida after arriving around nine at night and grabbing a muffin nearby. He didn’t want to interrupt their newest spat, but he felt a little ridiculous leaning against his truck bed in his t-shirt and cargo shorts, sweating and gripping his phone while he debated what to do.

There was just so _much_. And Mike wasn’t rich either, nice as he’d been paid back in Derry for a librarian’s salary. He wanted his money to last, at least until he thought about finding a job or a place to crash.

His phone buzzed, Bill’s warm smile lighting up his screen, and Mike immediately answered it on instinct. He refused to feel embarrassed as he turned away from the motel. Not that anyone nearby would’ve been able to tell his flushed cheeks were from anything but the heat. “Hello?”

“Hey!” Bill sounded far more awake than he had the other night. “What’s on the agenda today, how are you?”

“Currently attempting to figure that out,” Mike admitted. “And good. It’s much hotter here than I thought.”

“Don’t tell Richie that. He doesn’t need more fuel for those jokes right now.”

Mike raised an eyebrow, forgetting for a moment that Bill couldn’t see him. “He’s on a roll today, I’m guessing.”

“Is he ever.” Bill chuckled, though, dissolving any imagined edge to his tone. “I think that’s just because he’s trying to distract Eddie, though.”

“Distract him?”

“Physical therapy,” Bill offered as an explanation, and it somehow did fill in the gaps enough for Mike to hum affirmation. “Eddie’s determined to not complain about it - a shock of all shock, I know - and Richie’s either trying not to worry or trying to not let Eddie worry about it. But he’s really improving!”

“Richie or Eddie?” Mike joked.

“I meant _Eddie_ , but they’re both better.”

“Good. Tell them both I said hi when they’re done bickering like third graders.”

“Will do. So, nothing’s happening for you down in the Sunshine State?” There was an odd note to Bill’s voice that Mike couldn’t pick out over the phone.

“Not yet. Thinking about driving around now that I got gas again, maybe exploring. However, it might be weird to go search for a beach two days in a row.”

It was Bill’s turn to hum now, but it fell flat. _Distracted_ , that was the word Mike was looking for. Bill sounded distracted. “Yeah. Um, is there anything else you’d like to see?”

“Trying to weasel your way into telling me you’ve been to Florida too, Big Bill?”

Another laugh, almost _nervous_ now. “No. I mean, I have, but not to Orlando. Audra took me down there - I think to St. Petersburg? They’ve got nice beaches.”

Mike’s stomach clenched. The humidity became a little more oppressive than before, pushing down on his shoulders and digging its nails into his collarbone. The scrape of a phantom diamond ring over his flesh made him shudder, imaginary as it was, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh. That’s nice.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know if Orlando has beaches,” Mike said, feeling useless once the words left him.

“I know, I know. That’s - I meant.” Bill laughed that nervous laugh again. “You wouldn’t get the full tourist experience without a trip to a bonafide theme park.”

That…wasn’t what he expected. Mike glanced at the phone, half-anticipating Bill to hang up and someone would text him _surprise!!_

“Do I want to know where this is going?” Mike asked.

“It’s nothing bad!”

“That’s exactly what you said when you dared Richie to jump my first bike off the Kissing Bridge and into the river.”

Bill groaned. “That was _one time_! Look, I wanted it to be a s - s - surprise, and - fuck, I’m - we got you a ticket, Mikey!”

“A ticket?”

“To Disney,” Bill clarified. “For today only. We all chipped in, it only seemed fair. Thought about flying down but that was too short notice and Eddie and Stan are - you _know_ , so that didn’t seem right. But we wanted to do something nice.” He made a soft noise that sounded suspiciously like a sniff, though he didn’t appear choked up or upset. “Since… Well, we’ve all been through a lot lately. You’ve been going through that hell longer, though. Consider this an informal thank you from the Losers Club.”

Mike had to set the phone down in the truck bed for a moment to scrub his hands over his face. His eyes stung both from the fierceness of his rubbing and wave of affection that swept through his insides like riptide, tearing him open and apart in two seconds flat. He wanted to scream. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell them they were idiots.

He wanted to kiss Bill Denbrough and fist his hands in his hair and never let go. He wanted and wanted and _wanted_.

 _Not the time,_ Mike reminded himself, and he forced one hand away from his face to seize his phone again. Bill was talking still, sounding more and more uncertain the longer Mike went without responding. Probably wondering if he’d hung up or muted the call altogether. As if Mike would dare do such a thing.

“I’m here. I’m… You didn’t have to do that,” Mike said. He hoped the phone didn’t catch the way his voice hitched on the first word.

“I know.”

“I have enough money saved, I could’ve - ”

“Oh, no!” He drew back from the phone as Bill’s voice came too loud in his ear, frantic now. “No, that’s not why we did this, trust me. I mean, I know you’ve done it on your own but - but you’ve been on your own for almost thirty years and…” Bill trailed off and Mike could picture him running a hand through his hair, a sheepish grin budding on his face. “We just wanted to do something nice. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. And that’s not me trying to guilt-trip you or anything, I swear.”

“I get it, it’s okay,” Mike told him, and he meant it. They didn’t mean any harm by it, he knew they didn’t. “Still, you didn’t have to. I hardly think dragging you all to Derry warrants a thank you.”

“Why not? Without you, we never would’ve defeated It.”

“Bill - ”

“Or found each other again.”

“But I…” Mike huffed, his insides tightening in a vice. “You could’ve done that without me.”

Bill’s end went staticky for a moment. “Maybe. But we didn’t, Mike. _You_ brought us together. _You_ brought us back. We didn’t even remember the town’s name before that phone call.”

“But…” He could feel the fight draining out of him as quickly as the urge had come. “Disney? Really?”

That earned him a couple of beats of silence, though they were lightened by Bill’s sigh when Mike made a questioning noise. “It was either that or Busch Gardens. Apparently Ben and Stan were _really_ onboard with that park, said something about you liking the birds and animals.”

“I don’t even know what that is. Is it a zoo?”

“A theme park, actually. They got very offended when I asked if it was Sea World on land.”

Mike covered his mouth with his hand to fight off what threatened to become a guffaw that shook his whole chest. “Even I could’ve told you that.”

“Aren’t they all the same?”

“ _Bill_ ,” Mike gasped in mock offense, his hand clutching his heart even though Bill couldn’t see him through the call. He thought Richie would’ve been proud of the theatrics. “And after you have the gall to send me to Disney World, too.”

They both snickered at that, and Mike leaned against his truck so the lip of the truck bed dug into his back. He nodded to a family of four walking past, but only the mom sent him a thin grin in return, too busy corralling her two dark-haired boys who were screaming over some toy. He shifted away so he faced the door of the truck instead. Part of him was embarrassed and hoped Bill couldn’t hear the shrieking.

The cargo shorts were definitely a mistake in this heat. Maybe he needed to run up and change.

“You’re going, though?” He wondered if it was the reception or if Bill’s voice really did sound distant when he finally spoke again.

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah, why not? Just send me the tickets or - or however it works.” Mike bit his lip. “And, Bill?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” It came out too genuine, too soft, and Mike swallowed hard, his throat on fire. “Tell the others, uh, that I said thank you.”

“Of course. Have the best time, Mikey. Love you.”

Swallowing was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Swallowing that lump - which was more of a massive tennis ball now that he had to focus on the sensation - made him think of inhaling shards of glass and rose thorns, a deadly combination either way when one was standing in a searing parking lot in Florida and forced to croak out a very unsteady, “Love you too, Big Bill,” before hanging up _immediately._

Mike was a grown man. He was an adult and mature and well-mannered.

When Bill texted _i might have spilled the beans but Disney is a go! :)_ to the others, Mike made sure he was inside his truck and the windows were up before he slammed his head onto the steering wheel and let out a yell so loud it rang in his ears. All his yearning for the past couple decades spilled out into a guttural sound; short as it was, the ache it left behind, in his lungs, in his chest, in his heart, it _burned_.

It took another five minutes before he managed to drive out of the parking lot, head spinning and voice rough from shouting.

Disney was incredible because of course, it was. Richie lamented Mike “falling prey to our corporate rat overlord” when he tried to describe the experience to the others, but aside from one awkward near-encounter with a balloon worker and a far-too-large mouse balloon - _no_ , he did _not_ want to hold one even if he was wearing one of those cheesy “first visit!” buttons, and _no_ , he didn’t care to hold a balloon ever again, _thank you_ \- he rather enjoyed the rest of his day. He mostly wandered around the park, taking in the sights and the rides. Mike found out pretty fast after riding Splash Mountain- and getting soaked, though he could thank the Florida heat for drying him fast - that he was a big thrill-seeker, but the rollercoasters were crowded so he didn’t ride much else aside from the teacups and exploring Tom Sawyer’s Island. Bev encouraged him to get a Dole Whip and he bought at least two before the end of the day, feeling only a little guilty about his decision.

Well, Bill teased him about the Dole Whip when they called again later that night, but Mike sent him the photo of Minnie Mouse kissing his cheek he’d gotten before lunch. That seemed to shut him up real fast.

Mike sent the other character photos over the course of the rest of the week too, just to get the last word in. And maybe as a wordless thank you of his own.

3.

Mike stood on a beach, feet halfway buried in the sand and toes wriggling with ill-concealed delight as the ocean helped bury him in the wet quicksand-esque grains when he got the call.

It was not the first one since Disney - he and Bill took to calling every night if they could, just simple “what did you do todays” that left them laughing until their lungs were sore or Mike fell asleep, which happened twice so far and embarrassed him thoroughly both times. Sometimes they didn’t call for more than a half an hour, resorting to sending each other pictures - Mike of his day and Bill hanging around Richie, occasionally Eddie, who gave him an eye-roll and a thumbs up from the hospital when Richie attempted to lick his ear. The pictures were a comfort, a balm for Mike’s worry every time the anxiety stretched and gnawed at him like a feral cat. He didn’t tell Bill that, probably wouldn’t ever, but he suspected he sent the photos to cheer up Mike even if he couldn’t sense when the gloom was getting to him.

He’d been in Florida for almost two weeks now, making his way at a steady, slow pace through the state, and he still found it hard to believe he was somewhere other than the attic above the Derry library. But then he’d wake up and instantly start sweating despite the poor A/C in his room and feel the sheets stick to his bare flesh as he peeled them off of him, and one quick glance at his hand revealed what he’d always known: it was over. He was alive, the others remembered, they were all fine.

His phone vibrated harder as if sensing the tide of rushing thoughts trying to sweep him away, and Mike answered the phone, wedging it carefully between his ear and his shoulder. “Hello?”

“Have you ever written anything?” Bill asked. There was an edge to his voice he’d never heard before, not quite irritated, but something else he couldn't pinpoint.

“Um,” Mike said eloquently.

“Sorry, stupid question. Well - have you? I don’t think I ever - ”

“I’ve written notes for some ideas,” Mike managed to get out, frowning at the horizon and wondering if he ought to tell Bill to slow down so he could understand what the _hell_ was happening. “But I’m not much of a writer. Why…?”

Bill grumbled something unintelligible before raising his voice. “Been writing again.”

“Oh?”

“I forgot how hard writing is.”

Mike’s lips twitched but he tamped down on the urge to smile even if Bill couldn’t see him. “Ah, I see. The great William Denbrough brought down by a blank Word document.”

“Google doc, actually.” There was a slight whine in Bill’s voice and it reminded him of when they were kids, when they would horse around and gripe and moan at each other for taking turns playing games out in the quarry or the clubhouse. Granted, Bill had never been the one whining the most (no, Eddie and Richie took the cake on that, even if they’d fire back a “it’s _his fault_!” when they were caught doing so). But he sounded very much like a petulant child now, maybe pouting at his laptop screen while he called Mike up to complain. “I don’t know, I guess I thought it’d be easier after Derry. I had so many _ideas_ , Mikey.”

“For stories?”

“Yes! And how to end the screenplay, they’ve been bugging me about the script for two days straight now. Ugh.” Something _clunked_ on Bill’s end of the phone. “I wrote three different endings and I hate all of them.”

“Maybe get an outside perspective?” Mike suggested. “Have someone else read them. You might think they’re all bad - ”

“Oh, they _are_.”

“But you’re the one who wrote them, so you’re biased. Find someone subjective to read them and you’re good as gold.”

Bill hummed, hopefully mulling over the idea. “I mean. I thought about that.”

“Good.” Mike backed out of the ocean and onto the shore, and he shivered from mid-ankle down as the breeze kicked in. “Isn’t your wife on set too? Why don’t you ask her?”

He regretted asking the moment the question left his lips. The silence that followed reeked of unease.

“She’s - um, Audra and I aren’t. We aren’t speaking a lot. Lately.”

“Ah.” Mike shut his eyes and cursed his already sparking curiosity. “Sorry. You told her about Derry, right?”

“Much as I could without sounding like a nutcase.” Bill sighed. “It’s not that, though. She actually _understood_ the serial killer and reunion and whatnot, funny enough. Even understood G - G - Georgie. But it’s… It’s a long time coming. What we’re fighting about.”

“I’m sorry,” Mike offered weakly.

“Not your fault, Mike,” Bill said, and he wanted to believe it, Bill sounded so sincere and kind. “As Audra put it, ‘we’re both to blame and we’re both at fault’.”

“Still. I’m sure things will work out.”

“Yeah. I hope so.”

Mike sidestepped a pair of kids running toward the waves, plastic shovels and buckets in hand. He couldn’t tell where their parents were, but they seemed to be having the time of their lives. The sun was starting to set so he trudged back up the beach toward where he’d abandoned his sandals and adjusted his phone so it was no longer wedged but in his hand instead.

“If you need someone to look over those endings, though,” Mike said, “or those ideas for books you mentioned, I’ve got plenty of free time. And wifi, for the most part.”

“You sure?” Bill sounded oddly tentative.

“Hey, why not? I’m always down to read more from you. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t hate _all_ your endings either. They need a little work, that’s all.”

Bill laughed, the kind that made Mike envision him throwing his head back, that gray curl of hair slipping away from his eyes before he ran a hand through it to mess it up all over again. “Yeah? Well, you’d be the first.”

“I doubt that. But seriously. Send me your work. I’ve got all the time in the world.” Mike toed into his sandals and thought he heard Bill sigh, though over what he wasn’t sure.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Um, I’ll send it tonight.”

“Great.”

“Just keep an open mind,” Bill warned. “I promise I had some idea with these and didn’t throw darts at a board - ”

“I’m sure they’re great, Bill,” Mike assured him. “I gotta drive back, but I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay. Love you, Mikey.”

Even with the sparse families milling around the beach, Mike couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at his cheeks. He knew Bill likely didn’t know what he was doing - what Mike hoped he was implying - but the words were flickering embers in his curious heart.

Maybe he’d been talking to Ben lately if those were the metaphors he was coming up with.

Maybe he didn’t really mind, though.

“Love you too, Big Bill.” He hung up and pocketed his phone, making his way toward his truck, and if anyone saw how wide his smile grew, he knew it’d only be a whisper in the back of their minds later, nothing more. But it mattered to him more than the squelch of wet sand between his toes and the reddening sunburn on the back of his neck.

There were no pictures that night, but Bill sent four Google docs within the hour, three titled _ending???_ and one bullet-point list with several comments from the author himself as asides or clarifying notes.

Between the two of them, they wound up brainstorming three _more_ endings and trashing the original options, and Mike added a good five pages of notes to the bullet-point outline that Bill didn’t delete for some reason. Either way, they went to bed mere hours before Mike had to get back on the road. Mike saw words scrawled across a screen in his dreams that night, but he couldn’t make out what they were trying to tell him.

4.

“It’s impossible,” Eddie muttered over the phone. “No, _h_ _e’s_ impossible, more like it.”

Mike, who had been trying to politely hang up for the last half-hour, made a noncommittal noise and pursed his lips. He’d grabbed a magazine to pass the time while he waited in line for the bathroom at the gas station somewhere between Texas and New Mexico, but flipping through it only incensed his boredom and Mike was getting ready to pretend they were breaking up if it meant Eddie ended his latest rant about Richie. They’d begun talking about how _apparently_ Richie used three-in-one shampoo (which Mike admitted was horrifying) and somehow wound up talking about…

Well, he wasn’t quite sure. It seemed to be general irritating habits now.

“I just - it’s like he’s doing it on purpose, Mike! The other day, I left for ten minutes and he broke two glasses because he was trying to make coffee and bumped into the shelf too hard. Who does that?”

“It sounds like he just had an accident.”

Eddie made a noise similar to a wounded dog. “That’s the second time this week!”

“Ah.” A fraction of Mike, the patient part that sounded an awful lot like his father, rolled its eyes as Eddie shot off again at a pace only rapid-fire machine guns could follow, but he wasn’t too concerned.

The thing was - and he guessed the other Losers had their suspicions too - that Eddie was calling from his and Richie’s house in Los Angelos. Formerly _Richie’s_ house, mind you, but neither of them referred to it as such or had since before the move, or what Richie called “Eddie Spaghetti’s Great Escape (Patent Pending)”. It was a rather recent development, now that Eddie was no longer hospitalized, or married, but not an outright surprising one.

So really, he should’ve assumed the two of them would be calling whenever he found a shred of wifi to either laugh or complain about each other’s living habits. Eddie was the current winner with a whopping dozen times thus far, maybe because he trusted Mike not to “repeat anything I say back to that dickface.”

He wanted to feel honored and humbled by his trust, but Mike just felt tired. And yes, a little amused, because under all the groaning he could hear the open affection intertwined with each word (Richie more so than Eddie). Part of him did enjoy hearing about the latest exploits with cleaning the “fucking massive house, my god, Mike, you have to see how many rooms he has, what does he _need them for?_ ”

Perhaps he needed to stop answering the phone. Then again, knowing Richie and Eddie, the next instance they’d call would wind up involving a real emergency like Richie setting the house on fire in his sleep, and what else would he be aside from an asshole?

Eddie growled a little too close to the receiver and the sound jerked Mike back to reality. “It’s frustrating. Sorry. So fucking infuriating. It’s like he’s never lived with a roommate or a goddamn adult before!”

“To be fair,” Mike said, flipping again through the magazine as he lost his place, “I think he hasn’t. Or, one as safety-conscious as you, Eddie.”

That managed to burst his bubble for a moment. “Oh.” Eddie’s voice got softer. “Still. That’s not an excuse!”

“Didn’t say it was. But hey, didn’t you mention last week that he let you deep-clean the house again? And he bought new plates after the ones he’d had for years got mold in them?”

“Yeah. Which was fucking disgusting, by the way - ”

“ _Eddie_ ,” Mike coaxed. “He’s trying, okay. He really wants you there.”

At this, Eddie huffed. Mike was very tempted to give in to that eye-roll upon recognizing the sheer indignance in his voice. “I _know_ that.”

“Eddie.”

He could practically _hear_ Eddie’s shoulders slumping through the receiver. Mike shook his head and turned to the next page, grimacing at the gossipy tabloids before him. Why anyone cared about who was divorcing who was beyond him. The woman blown up in the left image looked exhausted, bored out of her mind, and the man next to her, less blown-up and just as worn down, looked ready to bolt off the page. Mike didn’t linger on either image for too long.

“I’m… I just. I know what it sounds like. I _know_.” Eddie huffed again, but there was no trace of indignance this time. “And I’m happy. He didn’t have to let me stay here. That’s - I don’t think he knows how much that means. He’s being a good friend.”

Sure, _that_ was why Richie spent an hour on the phone with Mike the day after Eddie’s first night in the house, panicking about whether Eddie would go back on his decision. “I’m sure he does.”

“I don’t want to treat him like my mom did,” Eddie said quietly.

“It’s okay. You know you’re not like her, right?”

“Mike. You never even met her.”

Touché. “I didn’t have to, based on everything you told me.”

“And Richie’s jokes,” Eddie mumbled, the irritation creeping back into his tone.

“You’re not like that, though. You’re opinionated. Richie knows that too. He’s known you longer than most of us have.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re his favorite person,” Mike said, and he bit down a laugh at the faint noise Eddie made. The restroom door opened and as he let the occupant scoot past him out the door, he tucked the magazine under his arm. “I’m serious. He’d tell you if he was upset.”

“I don’t think he would. He just - He bottles it up! Last time I tried to ask how he was feeling about his new manager, he almost threw up!”

“Eddie. Just talk to him. Without arguing, preferably?”

“Okay.”

“And maybe let me pee in peace?”

“Oh! Shit, sorry. That’s - Right. That’s on me. Um, thanks, Mike. Again.”

“No problem, Eddie.”

“And be careful in those gas stations!” Now he sounded more like his usual self. “You don’t know what kind of germs are in there, but - it’s like a breeding ground for diseases!”

“I’ll be fine and I’ll be careful. Goodbye.” Mike hung up before he could get another lecture and chuckled as he slid inside.

It wasn’t until after he got back on the road that Mike realized the woman in the magazine he’d been skimming was Audra Phillips and the implications nearly made him pull off the highway to scramble for the exact page. Only common sense and the will _not_ to crash his truck and die kept him driving, but it didn’t keep him from glancing at the wrinkled magazine in the passenger seat.

He chose the safer, shorter route in his hotel, alone in his room and staring at the smaller image of Bill tucked into Audra’s side and the headline _Murky Waters with Denbrough and Phillips’ Divorce_. It was a short article, if it could even be called such with all the flowery prose that failed to hide itself as speculation, nothing more than that. Both Audra and Bill looked discontented, if not exhausted as they’d seemed when he found the page earlier. There were more bags under both their eyes than he expected.

Mike couldn’t tell what he was feeling, truth be told. It’d been over a month since Bill mentioned he and Audra were having problems, not speaking to each other and arguing. But a month was a short time to throw away a marriage.

But Bill hadn’t been remembered Derry either until two months ago.

 _Guilt_ , it dawned on him. _This is guilt._

He decided not to send a picture that night, even if he received a shaky one ten minutes after nine of Bill in a rumpled t-shirt, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. Mike’s heart caved in on itself little by little as he laid there in the dark and he had to face away from his phone to resist the urge to text back _The best writers never sleep, huh? :)_

The ugly selfishness in him wanted to write _Why didn’t you tell me? Why do you keep brushing it off when I ask, but the world gets to know first?_

_Are you okay?_

The pit in his stomach and his chest was still there by morning.

5.

The thing about Bill Denbrough was that for all his goodwill and strength and patience, he was a summer storm - warm but fierce, sparking and burning any tree that got in his path if he deemed it harmful to those he loved, and loud about his own faults even when they hurt others. Georgie had been a casualty to ignite the storm, though Mike had only caught the tail end of it by the time he joined the Losers Club.

The other Losers adored Bill, he could tell right off the bat, and they seemed to have every right to. He was the most outspoken - aside from Richie - and the first to fight, whether it was against bullies or even his friends. Mike didn’t have an opinion on Bill at first, unsure where he stood in this strange chaotic group of misfits, doubly anxious because he knew how fast people could turn on each other. Derry was ripe for conflict, perhaps because of It, perhaps not.

But Bill was both conflict and order, he grew to realize; Bill didn’t deliberately stoke fights but he did his best to end them, even if he was in the wrong. He was gung-ho and charismatic and always there. Mike had never met anyone so readily _there_ for him, and that might’ve stuck with him the most.

He didn’t have experiences with storms, and certainly not ones as warm or trusting as Bill who bounced ideas off of him and listened to him and took his feedback without a second thought, Bill who kept quiet when Mike asked how _he_ was doing, Bill who assured Mike he was a good man, and sometimes, the “best of us all”. Every time he thought of breaching the storm, pressing too hard, his insides shriveled in on themselves.

Mike wasn’t good at pressing, not when it came to people. He liked books, papers, object and things who wouldn’t shy away or look at him differently for speaking up. He wasn’t _shy_ , he was _careful_.

Bill made him want to be reckless sometimes. More reckless than taking off on a road trip around America, that is.

But for all Bill’s qualities, all the ones that inspired respect and love, Mike had forgotten Bill was just as if not more reckless than the rest of them. That was what storms did - they crept in on you, and none too subtly.

Mike waited a week before he dared considering the thought of calling Bill. He texted short sentences back, never sending pictures, only simple answers and comments where his presence would be seen. He didn’t call, told Bill he was busy or too tired to answer the phone some nights, but he suspected he couldn’t keep the act up for long before Bill worried. It was easier in the groupchat where the others did more of the talking, even if there was one afternoon where Richie supposedly “wheezed with laughter” - Eddie’s words, not his - after Mike sent a meme Richie’d used the week prior. Though, probably not correctly if his reaction was anything to go by.

( _can i pls call you mike the meme hanlon from now on omg,_ Richie begged.

_I have no idea what that means, but sure?_

_Good because he’s already done it_ , Eddie told them, along with several accompanying emojis he guessed meant he was rolling his eyes.)

In the end, it was Bill who initiated the call, as per usual. Mike scowled down at Bill’s face, though his heart leaped like a fool. At least he could make it quick since it was nearly ten at night and he’d been halfway to getting to bed.

Mike answered and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

“Hey.” There was a pause. “Um. You been driving a lot lately?”

“Yeah. Been busy,” Mike said lamely.

“Oh. Oh, I see.”

 _Do you?_ Mike wondered. _What do you see? What do you see when you look at me, when you hear my voice?_

When Mike made no move to keep talking, Bill cleared his throat. “Where are you right now, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Somewhere outside of Vegas, I think,” Mike said slowly. “Why?”

“I just got to L.A.”

Mike glanced at the phone screen. He wondered if he was hearing things, but Bill wasn’t typically a liar. Or a very good one. “L.A.?”

“I’m visiting Richie. And Eddie,” Bill added. “He asked for help brainstorming ideas for standup and I needed a place to stay for a bit. So…here I am. Helps that now I’m closer to most of the Losers, you know?”

The sinking feeling began anew, the walls of his heart crumbling as he licked his lips and tried to sound unfazed, maybe even excited. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, I’m taking the couch for a while, but they don’t seem to mind.”

Mike frowned. “The couch?”

“Well…” Bill paused again. “There’s a spare room but I’m not sure if Eddie’s using it. Thought the couch might be a better option.”

“Why wouldn’t Eddie be using it?”

“I don’t - I should just ask, but I feel like that’s invasive? I don’t know.”

“Why are _you_ sleeping on your friend’s couch after _your_ divorce?” Mike asked, and he didn’t mean to be harsh but it certainly came off that way.

Bill’s end went silent for a long minute and Mike ground his palms against his eyelids. The yellow splotches before he opened them looked far too much like that clown’s eyes for an instant, leering, _knowing_.

“You heard, then,” Bill said. It was impossible to tell if he was upset or simply tired. The memory of those bags in the picture, haunting dark and prominent under his eyes, came to mind.

“Found it in a magazine at a gas station.”

“Right.”

“Do the others know?” Mike couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“I, uh, I told Eddie. And Bev and Ben. Mostly just for advice and someone to ground me and make me feel like I wasn’t going crazy. Audra was the one who wanted it first and I - for a time, I thought she was just mad and…” He cut himself off with a sigh. “I didn’t take it well, it was my fault. But I realized she was right pretty quick after that. Helped that Bev told me I should think about _why_ she was asking for the divorce.”

“Because of the arguing?”

“It was bigger than that, Mikey.” Bill’s voice was nearly a whisper. “Derry just. It helped us both realize we haven’t been happy for a while. We didn’t know how to be husband and wife outside of the media and film sets.”

Mike laid back on his bed, unsure what to do with this information. He supposed Bill had a point; when he checked in on each Loser prior to It resurfacing, Audra and Bill looked picture-perfect in tabloids and papers, kissing each other’s cheeks and supporting each other’s achievements. But Mike didn’t know Audra and he wondered if Bill knew his own wife - _ex-wife_ \- as well as he’d once thought.

“We’re trying to be friends still,” Bill said, as if he could read Mike’s thoughts despite being miles away. “We do love each other, that’s not a lie or anything. Taking time away might be for the best.”

“You didn’t have to hide it, you know,” Mike said. The words burst out of him before he could reign them in. “None of us would’ve judged you. It’s not like you’d be the first to get a divorce out of the seven of us.”

“That’s part of why I went to Eddie and Bev.” Bill didn’t bother to disguise his sheepishness. “I didn’t try and hide it, though.”

Mike laughed, an ugly sound he’d never made until now, a facsimile of mirth crushing his heart. “You deflected the subject every time I brought it up. I get not wanting to talk about it, but you always asked about me, how I was doing, whether I was okay after _everything_.”

“That’s not why - ”

“I’m happy for you,” Mike said, proud of how steady he sounded over the phone when he felt like he was choking on every breath. His eyes pricked. “Really. I am.”

“Mikey.” Bill didn’t have any right to call him that, especially when he sounded so _gentle_. “I’m in L.A. because I needed a place to stay - ”

“I _know._ ”

“And maybe it’s selfish because I w - w - wanted to be closer - ”

“Bill, it’s fine,” Mike argued, even as he sniffed, gritting his teeth at how fast his defenses were crumbling. “I’m serious, you don’t have to - ”

“And I d - divorced Audra because I love someone else too!”

Any last remaining walls around his heart broke and shattered, glass strewn about his still form on the hotel bed. His lungs forgot how to take in air for a moment, his mouth flapping open and closed several times on its own.

 _Summer storm,_ he reminded himself. _Reckless. Unpredictable. Not yours._

“Oh,” Mike said.

Something shifted on Bill’s end, what sounded like sheets or papers being moved near the receiver, and he thought he caught footsteps in the background. Maybe Richie. Maybe Eddie. He didn’t know and he didn’t care.

 _Reckless_ , he reminded a second time, more vehemently.

“That why you moved to L.A.?” Mike picked at the seam on the comforter of the bed, watching his fingers against the cotton pluck and tremble in earnest. “To be closer to _them_ too?”

“Yes.” It was a breathless admission.

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

His fingernail, blunt as it was, dug harder into the groove of the seam. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

It should’ve been fine. Why wouldn’t it be fine? It wasn’t Bill’s fault Mike had gotten his hopes up and forgotten how to distance himself. Apparently traveling across the country made him forget what selfishness looked like up close, how badly it gnawed at you until you caved the smallest amount and tumbled into its abyss.

Bill muttered something to himself that Mike couldn’t catch. Mike wondered if he’d end the call there, claim Richie or Eddie were calling him away. It had never happened before but there was a first time for everything. Bill was polite enough to want to leave on a good note, and maybe Mike didn’t feel much like talking anymore.

“Where are you going, Mikey?”

The plucking came to a halt. Somehow the question threw him and he had to regather his thoughts for a moment. Okay. Not ending the call. Not hanging up. New subject, then. “I - I don’t know. What do you mean? Where am I driving tomorrow? Because if so, all I know is I’m getting as far away from the neon hell that is Vegas.”

Bill snorted. “Fair. Vegas isn’t for everyone. But not what I meant.” Another rustling noise came through the receiver. “You’ve been almost everywhere by now, in the United States at least. And that’s exciting and awesome, and I can’t say I haven’t loved your updates of baby alligators and desert sunsets. All good things.”

“They have been. Good, that is.”

“Of course. I’ve been doing a terrible job of explaining everything, and not explaining what I should, or what I’m feeling. That’s not your fault. I’m sorry for not being clear, because I don’t think we’re on the same page. So, what I’m trying to ask is… Where are you going, Mikey?”

Mike swallowed hard. “Are we still talking about destinations?” It felt like a dumb question to ask, but Bill didn’t laugh.

“More like people,” he murmured instead, and Mike realized his friend’s voice was shaking as bad as his own fingers were, maybe more. And maybe he understood, or started to, for the first time.

He tentatively, carefully, _hopefully_ reached with those uncertain fingers for the shattered pieces of his heart. He held them gently, keeping away from the sharp edges so as not to cut himself further.

“I don’t know,” Mike said slowly. “I guess… I guess I was just waiting for you to be ready for me to come to you.”

And he swore he heard the shape of Bill’s wide grin as he replied, “Well, I am. Ready. If that’s what you want.”

Mike sucked in a sharp breath, and the air throbbed in his lungs, cool thanks to the A/C of the otherwise sweltering hotel room. “I want.”

“Yeah?” If he hadn’t believed it before, the blatant _hope_ burning in Bill’s voice cemented his revelation.

Mike allowed himself a smile, small but unwavering as he turned his gaze to the ceiling. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that.”

“Then come find me when you’re ready, Mikey.”

“And if that’s now?”

There was something wonderful about the unrestrained delight, childlike in its volume and contentment, that made Mike want to curl up for a long nap inside it. He thought of the warmth of summer, the pulse of heat lightning in each storm, brevity and longevity prolonged in each downpour. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

\+ 1.

Mike’s truck, determined as she was, died half a block from the house. He sat in disbelief before it dawned on him that he could be _doing_ something about the situation rather than gaping at his wheezing engine. There shouldn’t be this much smoke coming off it, right?

He didn’t want to call a tow company in California. Granted, his baby was old, she’d been his dad’s long before his, but he didn’t want to be delayed any further or deal with however much repairs would cost. Which, he realized with a plummeting heart, would cost way more than he had left.

So, Mike walked the rest of the way to Richie’s house. Leaving the truck where he’d pulled over behind a shiny Prius on the side of the road felt like a poor decision, but compared to the rest of the cars in the neighborhood and the fact that the engine was _smoking_ , _hello_ , he figured he could throw caution to the wind for once. Californian heat was less oppressive and humid than Florida’s and he was just thankful he hadn’t had to hitchhike on some highway entering the state and needed to phone a friend for a ride.

Especially since said friend would be one of three options, none of whom knew he was coming.

That wasn’t entirely true - Bill _anticipated_ him coming, but Mike had not told him when. He said, “Soon it is,” and left it at that.

In hindsight, Mike had not thought this plan through, but when had he _ever_ thought a plan through when it came to his friends?

The house in question wasn’t impressive by any means, with a short driveway and a cream-colored exterior, but it was certainly bigger than he expected. Richie didn’t strike him as the showoff celebrity type, and if he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve assumed it belonged to a middle-class citizen, maybe upper-middle-class if he stretched those assumptions. Still, the front lawn was well-kept, the windows were about the size of Mike’s torso, and the dark wood of the door stood stark against the outside in a way that said _I know exactly what I’m worth and you do too._

No cars were in the driveway. Mike didn’t know what kind Richie or Bill drove, and there was no way Eddie had taken his over after the accident in New York and Richie being in _California_ , so he hoped that just meant someone was parked in the two-garage.

He really did hope. Otherwise, this was about to become very awkward. Waiting outside for his friends to return wasn’t ideal.

He knocked twice and shuffled his feet when he heard a muffled voice shout something on the other side. He couldn’t make out who - they must’ve been coming out of another room, maybe down the stairs - but it comforted him to know someone was indeed home.

Another couple moments passed and right as Mike considered knocking again, locks were undone and the door flew open.

Eddie Kaspbrak blinked at him. Mike Hanlon blinked back.

“Hey?” Mike said. It came out like a question, but it succeeded in splintering the spell they both had become subject to.

Eddie yanked the door open wider and laughed, looking a little sheepish of himself. Mike wondered if he was embarrassed - which wouldn’t be a stretch given the practically fluorescent oversized lime green shirt and running shorts he wore. The words _Tozier Tours: Trashmouth Strikes Back 2011_ were emblazoned across his chest with a cartoonish head underneath that he hoped was meant to be Richie’s and not a deformed Yoda. Mike withheld judgment on the actual attire, but smug satisfaction wormed its way into his gut regardless.

“Mike, hey! Richie didn’t say you were stopping by, sorry. If I’d had known you were in the area - ”

“I didn’t tell anyone I was coming,” Mike said, suddenly self-conscious of his own state and the duffel bag thrown over his shoulder from his truck with his clothes in it. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding, man, don’t worry. Richie’s out right now with - shit, we also have Bill here, don’t know if he mentioned that. They’re both at a meeting with his new manager. They should be back pretty soon.”

The nerves that had clung to him, leeches all of them, for the remaining miles between the hotel outside of Vegas and L.A. faded. They were still _there_ , but the omnipresent thought of _where is he, where is he_ calmed the rising terror for now. Mike smiled. “That’s alright. Can I come in?”

The inside of the house bore all the signs of Richie he expected: a stack of DVDs haphazardly swaying on a desk with at least two pairs of shoes strewn by the legs, dirty dishes in the sink that bordered overflowing, post-it notes dotting every room with reminders or crossed-out jokes. The latter made Mike’s smile grow - as did Eddie’s once he realized Mike wasn’t staring off into space toward the fridge, but it was still a tiny smile, a private one, and Mike gracefully left that observation untouched for now too.

It wasn’t all Richie he noticed, though. Plants littered the windowsills of the kitchen, all potted and thriving in their little homes. He suspected they were Eddie’s from how his chest puffed out when Mike complimented them. There was at least one book on every table, usually half-open or dog-eared, and there was a pile on the coffee table along with a laptop that hadn’t been shut, the dark screen the only void in the sunlit living room. There were numerous coffee mugs in the sink, all different colors and sizes, far too many for one man to down in one sitting. Someone also stuck post-its to certain reminders like a chain in a couple of places he passed, three different handwritings glaring up at him, each more illegible than the last. There wasn’t much furniture aside from some chairs, a couch with several blankets and a gray pillow tossed onto it, a kitchen table, and a navy blue bean bag shoved in a corner that he wasn’t sure he wanted to know about.

The house was warm and lived-in and crowded and kind of a mess, what with Bill’s books and the papers and the plants and Richie’s post-its. He loved it.

“It’s a disaster zone right now,” Eddie said apologetically, reading Mike’s mind. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the dirty dishes. “Bill’s been exempt from most of the cleaning what with moving in temporarily and all, but between him and Richie, I swear, I’m so close to revoking that and putting them to work. You’re not even seeing _half_ of their fucking mess upstairs. The upstairs bathroom looks like a war zone.”

“It’s not that bad,” Mike said. “I’ve been sleeping in my car and run-down motels ever since Derry. At least you don’t have to worry about cockroaches.”

He probably should’ve held off on mentioning the roaches; Eddie’s eyes lit up with that familiar fire he knew too well. “There are actually _five_ different fucking species in California, believe it or not, and they’re all disgusting as hell. Somehow he managed to have _two_ of them living in the kitchen when I arrived and we had to get a goddamn exterminator. I think that’s the only thing that’s put the fear of God into him to actually clean sometimes. So if you see _anything_ that looks like a goddamn roach, tell me immediately. I’m not taking my chances.” A frown drew across his face. “Wait, did you see roaches in your motels? Because they can carry - ”

“I only saw a couple,” Mike intervened, holding up a hand to put an end to the oncoming rant. “They weren’t in my room, don’t worry. Besides, it was Florida, they breed a ton of those fuckers everywhere and anywhere.”

“Thank fuck for that, then.” Eddie brushed past Mike to get to the fridge. “Do you want anything? We’re out of milk, unfortunately, because _someone_ drank the lactose-free carton and between the three of us I’m the only one who really drinks it. But we’ve got lemonade and water and beer.”

“No alcohol, thanks, but I’ll have some lemonade.” He hadn’t realized how dry his throat was until Eddie mentioned a drink. Eddie directed him to the cabinet with the glasses and he dug out two for them as he heard the fridge door shut.

A few post-its fluttered off the fridge and he tried not to snort as he snatched them up and noticed the winky faces at the end of each note to accompany their joke. They were just puns about Eddie’s ass and spaghetti, with large thin _BEEP BEEP_ s across the bottom.

“So,” Mike said, eyeing Eddie as he finished pouring them a glass each, “you’re settling in well.”

Eddie shrugged and glanced at his phone as the screen brightened on the counter. He picked it up when he saw Mike looking, but didn’t seem annoyed. “It’s much better than New York, yeah. Things have definitely gotten better.”

“You’re dressing better too,” Mike couldn’t help but tease. The meaning didn’t take long to sink in; the now-scarlet flush of Eddie’s cheeks reminded Mike an awful lot of a deer caught in the headlights. Eddie hid his scowl behind the rim of his glass.

“Shut up.”

“Glad you talked it out, took me up on my advice.”

“It didn’t have anything to do with…with _that_!”

“Uh huh.” Mike chuckled as the scowl became a death glare. “I’m serious, though, good for you. As long as you’re happy, man.”

“Yeah.” He swore he spotted a soft smile, the same tiny one he’d spied earlier, on Eddie’s face. “He’s an idiot, but…”

“You’re both idiots,” Mike said fondly as he took a sip of his lemonade. It was pretty damn good, not too sweet.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, _you’re_ an idiot.”

“We’re all idiots. By definition of being a Loser.”

Eddie squinted. “Why do I feel like you’re talking in circles on purpose?”

“Didn’t say I was. But hey, I’ve missed you too, Eddie.”

“Hmm.” Eddie didn’t meet his eyes but that smile was still twitching. “You too, asshole. We all have.”

“You’ve all been busy, though.”

“Well, it’s not like we forgot you!” That gave Eddie pause, and his whole body froze up. “Uh. I didn’t mean it like…”

“I’m glad,” Mike told him, keeping his tone light because yes, the idea did sting but he knew Eddie didn’t mean anything by it. “So, how about those job applications you mentioned a couple of weeks ago? Any luck?”

That earned him a _look_ , but Eddie took the change in subject well, cautiously admitting that he’d been called back by two companies already, even if he shrugged it off again with red cheeks when Mike congratulated him. He had a feeling Eddie heard a lot of congratulations from Bill and Richie too - mostly the latter - and if anyone needed a good morale boost, it was Eddie. Everything seemed to be going well with the other Losers too, from what he’d heard, what with Bev trying to finalize her own divorce still - which inspired a hearty round of _fuck Tom!!!_ from the chat every time they got news of the man - and Bill and Richie’s new plans for stand-up and writing. Mike tried not to squirm when Eddie brought up Bill because he wasn’t sure how much Bill had shared with their friends, whether it be about the divorce with Audra or _their_ situation.

Truthfully, he didn’t mind if he had. Even if the thought gave him a bit of anxiety trying to picture Bill sitting Richie or Eddie down and asking about Mike.

He nearly spat out his lemonade and forced himself to smile and pretend he’d just choked when Eddie asked after him, eyebrows raised. No need to dwell on _that_ thought for too long.

Fuck. Those nerves were coming back.

Of course, it was then that, right on cue, the front door swung open and the next thing Mike heard was a warbling “ _Honeeeeey!_ I’m _hoooooooome!_ ” Eddie’s jaw clenched and he drew Mike a look as if to say _You see what I fucking put up with?_

He pretended not to notice it; he was far too busy combating the sudden _lurch_ in his gut because Richie was _not_ coming home alone and oh, fuck, he definitely should not have shown up unannounced like this, what was wrong with him? He was imposing himself on his friends and maybe this would be better off -

“We’re in the kitchen, dickhead!” Eddie called, rolling his eyes.

The door shut and Richie sighed, sounding unbothered as any man could be. Mike dared to call it _lovesick_. “Oh, you’re so sweet to me, babe, you won’t _believe_ the day we just had!”

“Did you say _we_?” Bill asked, and Mike had no time to bolt or perhaps feign illness to Eddie so he could run for the bathroom instead, because Bill was rounding the corner with a wide grin, looking like the sun shone out of his ass and despite the California heat and the sweat stuck to his brow, he was _glowing_ and Mike couldn’t do anything but _stare._

The smile dropped off Bill’s face the moment he saw Mike, eyes wide, and _yes, yes, this was a mistake, fuck._

Richie made a questioning noise from the entry hall that Mike swore sounded like a higher-pitched Scooby-Doo. “Company, you say? Who do we have the pleasure of hosting tonight?”

“Mike,” Bill breathed. He hadn’t moved an inch, welded to his spot by the fridge. Eddie glanced between them both with a strange look on his face.

“What was that, Billy boy?” Richie asked, far too loud and fumbling with something that was likely his shoe.

“Hey, Bill,” Mike said quietly, offering his best smile. In reality, it was a miracle he hadn’t begun shaking again.

“You’re here.”

Eddie cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, he got here half an hour ago.”

“Who’re we talking about?” Richie came into view, his hair wild, two different-colored socks on his feet that were equally bright as his enormous grin. “Oh, _shit_! Mike, man! Good to see you. Thought you were off exploring the vast wildernesses of the US of A!”

Mike locked eyes with Bill, took in the stiffness of his stance, the slight curl at the corner of his lips, and Mike allowed his own smile to soften. “I was. I think I’m ready, though, to start a new adventure.”

Bill’s answering smile was blinding, reckless, adoring against all odds. Mike barely registered Eddie muttering, “You owe me ten bucks, Trashmouth,” under his breath as he scampered out of the kitchen, dragging Richie with him, because then Bill closed the distance between him and Mike, pulling him into his orbit for a searing kiss, and how was he supposed to do anything but laugh and pull him flush against him, lightning crackling off their disbelieving lips?

Besides, Mike could afford to let the comment slide; he still had plenty of his own jokes in mind based on that atrocious _Tozier Tours_ shirt. It was difficult to care when it felt like the whole world was spinning around them, and maybe this was what home really was. Not clowns or waiting or traveling or phone calls but holding Bill and knowing no matter what he did next, it would be unpredictable and utterly ludicrous and he’d adore it nonetheless.

Bill cupped his face and moved back an inch, his mouth red and eyes blown wide. He hadn’t stopped smiling. “I think I’m ready too, Mikey.”

“Good,” Mike said. He pushed that stray gray curl out of Bill’s face and rubbed his thumb along his arm. “Because we might have to find a new car first. I kind of walked the last block here.”

Bill burst out laughing and Mike joined in, knocking their foreheads together. “Jeez, of course, you did. Well, we’d better go get it, huh?”

“You a mechanic now as well as a writer, Denbrough?”

“Hey, I’ve been told I’m pretty - ”

“If the next word out of your mouth is _handy_ ,” Mike warned, though he was halfway to laughing again, “I’m blaming your recent proximity to Richie and leaving you here.”

“Nice one, Big Bill!” Richie called from the living room and then proceeded to yelp. He could only assume Eddie swatted him given the faint muttering he heard.

Bill shook his head, but he didn’t appear embarrassed. “Peanut gallery aside, though, you…you want to do this?”

“No,” Mike deadpanned. “I drove like a madman from Vegas to see Eddie and Richie and no one else.”

Bill gave a put-upon sigh. “A shame. Would’ve told you I loved you, then.”

Mike’s cheeks flared with heat and he couldn’t resist gripping Bill gently but the back of his head and pulling him back into another kiss, biting at his mouth as Bill snickered at his enthusiasm.

“Love you too, Bill,” he murmured, low enough so Eddie and Richie couldn’t hear, and he felt Bill’s grin grow to cheek-splitting lengths.

“Stole my line, Mikey. Welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I do most of my scary clown nonsense screaming at my twitter **@scarletscold**. Comments are always appreciated, and have a great day!


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